Word lust

I confess. I have a love affair of generous proportions. A lust that cannot be sated. A desire that extends beyond anything I could imagine. A need so great, it's visceral. I love a good book. I know I've confessed this addiction before, but when I've been getting a lot of good words lately, I feel the need to confess yet again.

Needless to say, it's been a great few weeks for me and the printed page. It all started with Stephen and his latest pleasure trip in the bizarre, Duma Key. I have a Pavlovian response to Stephen King. New book, must buy.

Admittedly, not all his novels are gems. Luckily this one was. Good writers have their own rhythm. I'm sure my editor, MK, can spot my belles-lettres a mile away. I have a tendency to eschew conjunctions, using a synchopated cadence that usually runs in threes, light, loving, lingering... Stephen has the his own tendencies: A book by Stephen King reads like a book from Stephen King.

I also picked up the debut novel from Jonathan Barnes, The Somnambulist. Good Lord, talk about cadence. This author does some amazing tricks with words. Thinly veiled as a mystery novel, it's a dip into the exotic and erotic underside of London.

But it's his mastery of language that impressed me most. I actually had to look up words. I haven't done that in years! The last time was for A Clockwork Orange, and you have to use the dictionary in the back of the book to actually understand what the characters are talking about.

It was truly a pleasure to follow the story and soak up the language in each perfect little page. If you're looking for something new, please give this one a try. I can't promise you'll find my same level of ecstasy, but it might thrill you a bit in the meantime.

I have long believed the city, the country, indeed the world at large to be run by precisely the wrong kind of people. From the government to the great financial institutions, the peerage to the police force, the venal, the rapacious and the undeservedly rich. How much more comfortable would it be if the rulers of the world were not the cognoscenti of the bank balance, the ballot box, the offshore account, but were drawn instead from the ranks of the everyday-- honest, kind stout-hearted, commonplace folk.